


Versace Blue Jeans

by Tumbleweed_run



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst, Fluff, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, Sugar Daddy Hannibal, ahh the feels trifecta, canon divergence after coquilles, trigger tags on specific chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tumbleweed_run/pseuds/Tumbleweed_run
Summary: “You wanna quit? Quit.”Will felt something snap in his mind, something so tangible he expected to turn around and find that one of the ropes that held Elliot Budish had snapped. He did turn his head to look and found the scene exactly as it was when he walked in but when he turned back to face Jack’s retreating form an eerie calm had settled into the spaces of his mind that had moments before been a violent cacophony of voices telling him what he should be doing. Now only one word was repeating through the landscape of his mind.Quit.***Also known as the sugar daddy au!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will be added as we go! I assure you, we're all going to hell in a handbasket. 
> 
> This will be equal parts smut, fluff, and angst. 
> 
> The title was taken from the Hedwig and the Angry Inch song 'Sugar Daddy'. The original broadway cast recording is available on Spotify... go listen to NPH being fantastic.

“You wanna quit? Quit.”

Will felt something snap in his mind, something so tangible he expected to turn around and find that one of the ropes that held Elliot Budish had snapped. He did turn his head to look and found the scene exactly as it was when he walked in but when he turned back to face Jack’s retreating form an eerie calm had settled into the spaces of his mind that had moments before been a violent cacophony of voices telling him what he should be doing. Now only one word was repeating through the landscape of his mind. 

Quit.

Jack’s permission to quit may have been an insincere gesture, but it was exactly the last push he needed.

Looking was doing him no favors, the only favors it was doing was for the FBI and Jack Crawford. Will’s entire life had been about sacrificing parts of himself for the sake of others, sometimes figuratively and other times literally. His sanity was the last thing he had, and even that was a dubious statement. He could feel the skin of his sanity pulled taught, tight enough for Jack to beat upon like a drum with his crime scenes and his criminals. Will knew, Hannibal knew, hell they all knew, that one day Jack was going push too hard and then there would be nothing left of him. Then and only then Jack would be done with Will and what would Will have left? Nothing.

The FBI had caught its killers long before Will came to its doors and they had the means to continue when he was gone. There were hundreds of profilers, one of them would slide forth into the spot left behind. Someone who wasn’t already barely holding their sanity, someone who could look and look and never feel the sickly black rising up around them. Someone who wasn’t Will.

He could continue teaching. He could blunt the guilt he knew he would feel when another killer emerged by teaching skills to the next generation of agent. Arming those minds with the skills necessary to profile and catch killers was surely a more effect way to fight this never-ending battle. Will would certainly save more lives by proxy in a lecture hall than he would ever truly manage out in the field and it would allow him to keep his last remaining part of himself intact.

There was no reason for either he or Jack to stay on the scene once the forensic vans got there and Will climbed wordlessly into Jack’s car when he did. The drive back to Quantico was silent, Jack was somewhere in his mind too bothered by his own thoughts to continue to needle at Will and for that Will was thankful. He spent the ride in his own mind as well, wording and rewording his resignation letter so as not to alienate his resources at the Bureau careful to point out he was only resigning from the field and wished to continue his work in the classroom.

There were perfunctory words of departure once they reached the parking lot after which Jack disappeared into the building, and Will wandered to his car.

Once at home he immediately set to work on writing his letter despite the overwhelming urge to put it off until tomorrow. But he knew that putting it off until tomorrow was likely to lead to him avoiding the task until it was too late and there was yet another case shoved under his nose. Procrastination would lead to compliance with his current situation, and that was something Will was certain he couldn’t do.

It was an easy enough letter to write, he’d already composed a majority of the letter on the ride back from Budish’s farm, but pressing send was what caused the real hesitation. It took another hour, a walk with the dogs and finally a glass of whiskey before Will finally had the nerve to push the button that would potentially alienate him from the one job he'd dreamed of doing for so long.

Will drained the rest of his glass as he watched the email send. In a fit of paranoia or perhaps because of an intimate knowledge of Jack’s inner workings he had chosen to CC Jack’s boss as well as the head of personnel. With two other witnesses to Will’s resignation there would be no way for Jack to casually claim he’d never received any such email.

***

Will’s dreams that night were no more restful than they’d ever been. He still woke at some godforsaken hour of the morning drenched in sweat breathing like he’d run a marathon but thankfully this time he remained in his own bed. As he laid down a towel Will wondered if Hannibal had been right and that with the simple act of sending in his resignation some of his stress-related symptoms had already abated.

At a more reasonable hour of the morning, though honestly still too damn early, Will dressed and made his drive to Quantico. It was earlier than he usually arrived for his classed but he knew there would be no doubt Jack had seen the letter, he preferred any lecture he received from the agent to be done away from the students that were meant to respect him.

As he had expected Jack and a woman Will vaguely recognized as being from personnel were waiting in his empty classroom, she seemed more than uncomfortable waiting in the room. Jack’s face was blank but his eyes, as soon as he found Will entering, were on fire with a sort of rage that caused Will’s heart to pound in his chest. For once Will was thankful for another person in the room, at least with witnesses Jack wouldn’t actually be able to murder him.

“Since you are no longer a special investigator you’ll need to hand over your gun and badge.” Jack thundered, the woman inched slightly away.

Will had anticipated this, and the weapon that was clipped to his belt was empty, the magazine sat in his pocket. His official unofficial special investigator’s badge was inside his laptop bag, and it had been his teaching one he’d clipped on this morning.

“Good morning to you too, Jack.” Will tipped his takeaway coffee cup towards the other man in a gesture of hello.

Jack’s expression turned venomous.

Will ignored the look and walked around the two other people to set his things down. He carefully laid out his weapon and badge on the desk before pushing them over towards Jack. Against his better judgment, against even his worst judgment Will spoke. “You told me to quit.”

Jack scooped up the items, the look on his face so violent Will waited for him to load the gun and point it at him. “You were saving lives, Will.”

Will scrubbed his hand over his face. “At the cost of my own.” He was tired of this song and dance, the words had changed but everything else remained the same.

Jack Crawford gave him one last lethal glare before he swept out of the room taking what was left of Will’s career as a special investigator with him. It was only then that the timid woman stepped forward with several forms he had to sign.

The true depth of Jack’s anger was revealed the next day as Will made his way to his classroom. Jack was there again, this time with the director of the academy.

“Agent Crawford, Director Ackerman.” Will nodded in what he hoped was a friendly greeting, they were both blocking the door to his classroom and he was forced to come to a stop a few feet from it.

“Will,” Ackerman said in his pervasively condescending tone, “Jack tells me you’ve resigned.”

“From the field.” Will spat out and in his haste he stuttered just enough to make himself cringe. “Not from teaching.”

“The FBI is a family, Will. If you’re not willing to use your talents to help out the other members, then do you really belong in it?” As Ackerman asked this a small sadistic grin broke out across Jack’s face, the bastard was enjoying this.

“Really, you’re having me fired?” Will threw at Jack, eyes narrowing.

“You resigned, Will,” Jack said casually.

“Not from teaching!” Will shouted it didn’t matter how he treated either of these men now he was already without a job.

“You 24 hours to amend your resignation and we will give you whatever recommendations you need,” Ackerman spoke, ignoring Will’s outburst.

“And if I don’t amend my resignation?” Will challenged.

“You will be dismissed.”

“I can’t – you can’t…” Will trailed off fruitlessly. They obviously could and would.

It was only twenty minutes later that Will found himself back at his car. He’d been allowed to remove his personal belongings under the watchful eye of Ackerman. Jack had remained just to gloat silently.

It was only 7:20 in the morning but Will found himself driving straight past his exit to Wolf Trap and onwards to Baltimore. It was only as he pulled in front of Hannibal’s office that he realized he must have sped through the entire trip, a nearly hour and a half drive had only taken a little over an hour. It was also only then that Will realized he should have called. He knew Hannibal was in and at this exact moment he was also patientless, he’d told Will that he didn’t see patients until nine and opted to spend the hour there in the morning reviewing his patient notes, so it was the worst thing he could have done.

It was the slow blink as Hannibal opened the patient door Will had rapped on it that made him realized he’d managed to surprise the psychiatrist.

“Will.” Hannibal acknowledge as he made a show of checking his watch.

Will raised his hands either in surrender of placation, even he wasn’t sure which. “I know it’s early and I’m sorry.”

Hannibal nodded and stepped aside admitting Will without another word.

“I was fired.” Will blurted out as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

A small frown, nearly indistinguishable from any of his other facial expressions, appeared on Hannibal’s lips.

“Well I resigned, then got fired and hey if I resigned again they’ll write me a fucking letter of recommendation.” Will said with false cheer as he nearly threw himself into the chair.

Hannibal’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry, Will, I don’t understand.”

Will groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I resigned from the field.” He spoke mostly into his palms, quiet enough Hannibal had to cross over to him in order to hear. “This morning I was told I could amend my resignation to include my teaching position or they would fire me.”

Hannibal made a small sound of understanding as he sat in his chair across from Will. “You stood up to Jack then.”

Will snorted and drug a hand up through his hair. “And he found a way to knock me down.”

“You believe Jack has to do with you losing your teaching position?” Hannibal asked neutrally.

A short bitter laugh escaped Will’s lips. “He was there watching as David fucking Ackerman showed me my door. They actually walked me out together, so yes I believe Jack has everything to do with this shit show.”

“Will.” Hannibal sighed exasperatedly. “I am making exceptions because I know you’re stressed but I must ask you to please watch your language.”

“Sorry.” Will murmured feeling every bit the part of a chastened child.

Will looked up, ready to apologize properly and to speak more like the fully accredited adult he was supposed to be when the final piece of the panic attack puzzle fell into place. “Oh god.” He groaned and dropped his head back into his hands.

“Will?” Hannibal asked his neutral tone tinged lightly with concern.

“I guess I’m also here to inform you that I won’t be around for our… conversations anymore.” Will threw his head back, it thudded against the back of the chair.

The FBI had been paying for Will’s ‘conversations’ with Hannibal. Will wondered how much if any of his insurance would cover this impromptu meeting, he would at least have that for the next thirty day or so. His eyes flickered around the room rapidly as if the décor was going to inform him exactly how much of his already pitiful savings he was eating up just by being here. No solid number was forthcoming, but he was hit with the overwhelming knowledge it would be a lot.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your morning.” Will said standing abruptly, in an effort to maintain his ability to pay his mortgage next month.

Hannibal stood with him, stepping around just enough that he blocked Will’s path to the door. “Will it’s certainly understandable.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Will repeated as he fidgeted with his bag, dragging it around in front of him like a shield. “You have patients and I…”

How did one politely say ‘there is no way I can afford to even be in this building’?

“Sorry.” He said and brushed past Hannibal who made no moves to block him this time. He hesitated at the door, hand on the knob. Sighing he tilted his head to the side just slightly, “And uh… thank you, Doctor Lecter.”

With that Will hurried himself out the door.

***

Hannibal watched from the window of his office as Will’s station wagon drove off at an alarming rate.

This was certainly a development, though he hadn’t decided if it was a good or bad one yet. Hannibal hadn’t anticipated Will would quit, he had assumed the man would continue driving himself so sweetly to the brink of insanity where Hannibal would wait.

Will continued to surprise him at every turn.

There was the concern of the medical condition plaguing Will, encephalitis if he wasn’t mistaken which he was certain he wasn’t despite not having been able to get Will to participate in the proper testing. Without appropriate treatment or monitoring, it was very likely the disease would spiral out of control and cost Will his life. Hannibal hadn’t made any solid decisions on whether he would be informing Will of the disease but he’d been planning to be around to watch its progression.

That appeared to have been taken from him by Jack Crawford’s vindictive streak.

Jack was no doubt angry and upset, lashing out at Will for lack of ability to lash out at the cancer that was surely stealing his Bella. Will’s resignation was just one more universal slight again the man, one he could react against and so he did.

It was all understandable even if Jack had put Hannibal into a precarious position. Pursuing Will now would be much more obvious and need to be handled with considerably more care than if the man had continued with the FBI. Now Hannibal had to find a way of approaching the former special investigator without his motives becoming too obvious.

It was an interesting little puzzle and, oh, how Hannibal loved puzzles. 

***

Will amended his resignation that night, he couldn’t afford not to. A glance at his finances told him he couldn’t afford much besides the basics of living and even that wouldn’t be possible after a couple of months, three at the most. No universities were hiring unless he wanted to move across the country, and even if they were, Will knew his reputation preceded him. No one would want to hire an unstable, unsocial professor even as an adjunct.

Will looked across the room at the disassembled boat motor that took up part of the living room. He had told Jack he could always be a diesel mechanic in a boat yard. The thought shuddered through him and he turned over to face away from the looming prospect of becoming his father, something he’d sworn he’d never be.

It didn’t matter, he had a few weeks before his situation could be considered dire. He’d figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aim to update weekly if not a little sooner but another fic that no one asked for is also being written and I plan to trade off updates on them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding slow burn to the tags because I think that's where we're going. Speaking of tags if there is specifically triggering stuff in a chapter I will mention it in the beginning notes.   
> Triggers for this chapter:  
> mentions of being suicidal  
> Depressed!Will

As it turned out ‘a few weeks’ could be stretched even long when one subsisted on a diet of beer, fish, and bread.

It had made some sort of sense the first couple of days that Will found himself unexpectedly unemployed. It was a celebration of finally standing up to Jack, of freedom from the darker parts of his own imagination. Then, as it often did, a couple of days blurred into weeks and suddenly an entire month had gone by. Will was vaguely conscious he was skating a line between alcoholism and a death wish. The only thing that kept him toeing that line was the idea that if he died the dogs would do doubt resort to eating him and that would make them difficult to place.

In the past month Will had spoken to Alana twice, Jack once and he’d ignored seventeen calls from Beverly Katz. He found he couldn’t bring himself to answer Beverly so he’d just let the phone ring, her voicemails ranged from ‘what the hell did you do’ to ‘you’re scaring me, call me, okay?’ Alana must have passed on his continued existence because slowly the phone calls had died off. There was only one person he called with any regularity, twice a week at just after three he phoned Abigail. It was only in the past week that she’d gently tried to express concern at his situation, but he’d assured her he was just fine.

His other interactions all took place during his weekly trips to the store. It was probably going to be the elderly woman who glared at him as he bought cases of beer that would be the one to report him missing if anything did happen to him. Will had briefly considered trying to be nicer to her during his last visit so that she’d have a reason to care if he stopped showing up.

In the end, he hadn’t bothered.

During one of his weaker moments he’d found himself on Tattlecrime checking to make sure the world hadn’t fallen to pieces, Freddie would have the scoop on the apocalypse if anyone did. He hadn’t needed to browse too deeply as the front page boasted that the Chesapeake Ripper had been discovered already incarcerated in the BSHCI. Will had tipped his glass, full of whiskey by that point in the evening, at the screen before closing out of the browser. He doubted the Ripper was honestly already incarcerated under their noses, but that wasn’t his problem any longer. Jack’s phone call a few days before made perfect sense once he’d seen the article, Will had been just drunk enough to tell his former boss to ‘fuck off.'

That had felt intensely good for approximately twenty minutes.

His drinking had been much heavier, even by his standards, in the days following. Three sheets to the wind he’d wondered if he really needed to pay his mortgage. It would take a hell of a lot longer for them to evict him than it would for him to eat up his meager savings even with his subpar standards of existing currently. He spent a full two days considering this course of action before cutting back on the drinking and just paying his damn bills. Occasionally he sent his resume off to colleges around the U.S. almost as an effort to prove to himself he wasn't useless, so far none of them had called.

The upside to his drinking was there were no more nightmares or if there were he never remembered them in the mornings. The downside was when he did wake, drenched in sweat, it smelled horrible even to his nose.

Many a morning was spent throwing up from a combination of the smell and the hangover. After that Will would scrape together breakfast (usually toast) and feed the dogs. He spent the remainder of his morning fishing for what would become his lunch and dinner. The afternoon was spent preparing the fish and tying off more lures for future use. After seven he deemed it appropriate to switch over to whiskey and fell asleep fairly quickly after he started. He wasn’t sure if it was drinking or if the sleepwalking had returned, but he often woke in the morning somewhere different than he’d remembered passing out, but as long as he remained in the house it didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.

His days passed in one large, dark, blur.

***

Hannibal grew concerned about two weeks after Will had announced he’d resigned. All communication with the man had gone completely dark after that day, and it was worrisome. Of course, at the exact moment Hannibal decided Will’s health was worth worrying over he found himself rather busy dealing with Abel Gideon and his preposterous claim that he was the Chesapeake Ripper.

He’d quickly learned Frederick Chilton was not so subtly behind these claims.

At that same dinner Hannibal had asked Alana if she’d spoken to Will recently. He knew she and Will danced around a landmine of feelings for one another. He’d assumed, or rather hoped, Will would have continued to reach out to her. Alana may have been in the dark about a great number of things but she was bright enough that if something drastic had changed in Will she would notice and be able to get him help. Unfortunately, he’d learned Alana had only managed to get ahold of Will once since his departure from the FBI but she promised she’d check in on him later.

Hannibal never did manage to find out if she had reached out to Will again, namely because without his empath Jack Crawford had turned to Hannibal for help.

He didn’t regret it, watching Jack’s fresh reaction to finding Miriam Lass’s arm was too great an opportunity to pass up. It was also certainly interesting witnessing the processing of his own crime scene, listening to the postulations which ranged from close to completely wrong. Hannibal had wondered what Will would have taken from the entire charade.

Now that people doubted Abel Gideon’s claims and Frederick’s by association, Hannibal felt he could turn his attentions back to dear Will.

It had taken another two weeks to properly clear his schedule on a Friday afternoon so that he could leave Baltimore just after lunch. He didn’t feel he needed a real excuse to seek Will out his absence and previously unstable mental state were more than adequate explanation for his concern. Hannibal did hope, however, that Will would be persuaded to go out for an early dinner, so they were allowed to have an adequate conversation for with which to gauge Will’s current mental state. He would be content with whatever Will was willing to allow though, this time.

There was no movement outside of the little white farm house as Hannibal steered up the drive. As he stepped out of the car he could hear a few interested barks from Will’s dogs. There was a small crash from the inside as he climbed onto the porch possibly one of the dogs a little too excited or perhaps something else. Either way, Hannibal was on a higher alert than he really should have needed to be. He pulled open the screen door and just as he went to knock the interior door was swung open.

The smell hit Hannibal first. For once it wasn’t the scent of dog or Will’s abominable after shave but instead sour beer and sour body odor that rose up to greet him. Hannibal very politely refrained from coughing.

Will looked no better than he smelled which was saying something since Hannibal had always found Will’s appearance agreeable. Will always leaned towards unkempt side with constant stubble and nearly unruly hair but this was worse. The length of Will’s facial hair suggested he hadn’t shaved since he lost his job and by the state of his curls it was possible he hadn’t run a comb through them in just as long. Hannibal glanced down at the dogs swarming Will’s feet and noticed they looked just as healthy as ever.

Will blinked against the light until a slow recognition dawned over his eyes. He peered suspiciously behind Hannibal before asking,     “Did Jack send you?” The length at which Will held onto his ‘s’ while he spoke confirmed he was inebriated. Hannibal briefly considered if Will’s liver was in more danger than his brain at this moment but he couldn’t imagine alcohol did encephalitis as favors.

“No,” Hannibal said truthfully, “I came because I’m concerned about you.”

Will snorted. “I’m fine.”

Hannibal ignored the blatant lie and looked Will over pointedly.

Will was not so far gone that he didn’t realize Hannibal wasn’t going to be thrown off so easily and he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Okay. Maybe I’m not fine but I’ll live,” he admitted. “But I’m also not your patient any longer, Doctor Lecter.”

“Were you ever my patient?’ Hannibal inquired neutrally. “I was under the impression we were just having conversations as friends do.”

Will raised an eyebrow and it disappeared behind a mop of curls. “Do you often discuss serial killers with your friends, Doctor Lecter?” There was venom in his speech, and he spat out the word ‘friends’ as if he could taste it. Before Hannibal had a chance to answer Will raised a hand haltingly and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Thanks for the concern, you shouldn’t have and yet you did. Have a safe trip back to Baltimore.”

Will turned and swung the door shut as he and his pack disappeared back into his home. Hannibal was just close enough he slid his foot in preventing the door from being slammed in his face. Will didn’t notice and continued crossing the room to his bed where he threw himself down.

The smell was all encompassing inside, and Hannibal stood in the doorway half considering dragging Will outside in order to avoid dealing with it. Instead, he strode inside passed Will who once again either didn’t notice or chose not to recognize that Hannibal was still in his house.

There were enough empty bottles spilling out of the trash can in the kitchen that all of Hannibal’s medical training was telling him to call an ambulance. There was a chance, however slim that a hospital would pick up on Will’s condition, and therefore he ignored that option as well.

The bathroom was an easy find with the door swing wide open. Hannibal’s patience was once again tested as he stepped inside and noticed a spattering of old vomit on the back of the toilet tank. He took a moment to reclaim his grip the situation and turned towards the bathtub. That was relatively clean, Hannibal chose to ignore the implications as such. So instead he began running the water.

As the bath filled Hannibal wander back out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. The table was also untouched, and he felt it was safe to lay his jacket over the back of one of the chairs. A quick glance in the refrigerator came up with more beer, some mayonnaise and half a dozen eggs of questionable age. On the counter top was a fish part way through being gutted and cleaned. No matter what condition Will was in he didn’t seem the type to waste food, so it was likely Hannibal had interrupted him preparing the fish.

The bathtub had filled to an acceptable level once Hannibal returned to the room and he turned it off. Will was still in the same position, face down on his bed, which made what Hannibal was about to do infinitely easier.

Will gave a startled yelp that riled up the dogs around them as Hannibal reached under his arms and dragged him upwards off the bed. Will struggled halfheartedly as Hannibal near carried him down the hall towards the bathroom. Will was lighter than he had been, which was an impressive feat when Hannibal had last seen him. Hannibal had certainly dealt with worse resistance while dragging someone around against their will.

Will cried out again as Hannibal dropped him into the bath and the sound satisfied him. The water was cool enough to be unpleasant but not so cold as to be considered cruel; it would provide a needed shock to the inebriated man’s system. Will spluttered and splashed as his fingers fought for purchase on the slick tile. Hannibal remained close to ensure Will didn’t manage to drown in his own bath. Once Will, now completely soaked, had managed to pull himself up to sitting he fixed Hannibal with a deadly glare.

“What the fuck?” He demanded one hand slapping at the water.

Hannibal leaned down over the bathtub, so he was looming over the younger man. He grabbed Will’s chin none too gently and turned it towards him. “This is unhealthy and unacceptable,” he growled allowing a usually hidden part of himself to rise to the surface, “I suggest you clean yourself up.” Will recoiled from Hannibal’s touch at the threat behind the words.

Only once Will had dragged his filthy shirt off did Hannibal finally leave the bathroom.

***

It was the shock from whatever the hell Will had seen in Hannibal’s eyes that kept him from chucking his soaked shirt at the man’s retreating back.

He dropped the shirt onto the floor and considered his situation. He was now miserable, cold, and the small headache he always seemed to have was growing steadily worse. His only real option now appeared to be pulling off his clothes and taking a shower, objectively he realized he really did need one.

As the warmth from the shower began seeping into his muscles Will’s irritation at the doctor was slowly replaced with embarrassment. Out of what appeared to be genuine concern Hannibal had no doubt taken the afternoon off and driven all the way out to Wolf Trap to check on Will. Which, admittedly, was probably a good idea seeing as Will had seemed to forget how to take care of himself. But how did Will repay the man? By trying to slam the door in his face. Will groaned and leaned against the wall.

There was only so long that Will could hide out in the shower and his water was already beginning to cool. So he turned off the water finally and climbed out. He made an attempt at brushing through his hair, hissing as he had to force it through the back which seemed to have become a mat, and then he brushed his teeth. He didn’t exactly feel compelled to do anything about his beard and it was currently too long to just take a razor to so Will left it as it was.

As he stepped back from the sink and kicked his soaked clothes towards the hamper Will realized he had no clean clothing in the room with him. Will wrapped the towel more securely around his waist and slunk out of the bathroom.

Hannibal was preoccupied with something in the kitchen and didn’t seem to notice as Will crept by into the living room. There was the distinct flaw to setting up your bedroom in the living room. It made for an awkward situation on the rare occasion he had company. Thankfully Hannibal remained busy in the kitchen as Will quickly threw on boxers and a pair of jeans. He found another plain t-shirt still clean in a drawer and put that on before walking back into the kitchen.

Hannibal was at the stove now cooking what Will recognized was the fish he’d been cleaning when the dogs had alerted him to someone on the property.

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked without looking back at him.

Will shrugged, feeling out of place in his own kitchen. “Sorry… for the way I acted.”

Hannibal waved a free hand. “You are forgiven but that doesn’t answer my question the way I meant it.”

“Currently? Like there’s a mariachi band playing in my head.” Will confessed as he stepped forward to grabbed the bottle of Aspirin off the top of his refrigerator.

Hannibal glanced at the two black trash bags that had turned up around Will’s trash can, no doubt holding the remnants of the suspiciously missing beer bottles, before turning to watch Will swallow a few pills dry. “I’m concerned about you, Will, you’re depressed.”

“I’m not depr-” The protest stuck in Will’s throat as Hannibal leveled him with another surprisingly emotional look.

“You are depressed,” Hannibal said as he turned back to attend to the fish he was cooking, “which is a perfectly normal response to a stressor such as losing one’s job.”

Will snorted. “Losing one’s job can also be a precursor to murder,” he muttered.

Hannibal heard him of course and a corner of his mouth tugged upwards as if he wished to smile. “Do you feel compelled kill anyone?”

“Just myself.” Will quipped without thinking.

Hannibal’s already rigid posture turned impossibly stiffer.

Realizing what he’d said, and more importantly who he’d said it to, Will quickly held up his hands in supplication. “No, I didn’t mean- I’m not suicidal.”

Hannibal relaxed slightly but glanced once more at the bags of empty beer bottles.

“Not actively suicidal.” He corrected.

Hannibal hummed but turned back to the fish. “Active or passive, I’m still concerned.”

Will shrugged and turned back towards his living room. He was not interested in having this conversation while not entirely in possession of all of his faculties.

Hannibal had cleaned the kitchen in order to finish preparing the fish but Will’s living room still resembled a recycling center. The dogs that weren’t in the kitchen eyeing up Hannibal’s cooking lifted their heads in interest as Will because walking around cleaning up the cans. His house had never been as fastidiously clean as Hannibal’s was but Will was embarrassed for Hannibal to see it in this state.

“The fish is done.”

Will jumped slightly not having heard Hannibal enter the room. He’d just thrown the full bag outside, making a mental note to finish its journey to the cans later, and had been contemplating sitting down for a minute as the Aspirin hadn’t managed to touch the headache pounding away inside of his brain.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Will responded lamely and he trailed behind Hannibal.

Hannibal carried the food to the table as Will pulled open the refrigerator. “I have… water.” In reality, he had beer and water in the refrigerator but he doubted Hannibal would approve of the beer, the fact that he was drinking it or the brand.

“Water is just fine,” Hannibal said agreeably as he fussed around with the plates at the table.

By the time they were both sitting Will looked at his plate skeptically, he wasn’t sure that all of the ingredients had actually come from his house. Hannibal was verging on some sort of food magician which would have surprised him in the slightest.

Hannibal took a bite of the fish and hummed happily. “Did you catch this yourself?”

Will nodded around his own first bite, it tasted infinitely better than anything Will had ever managed which was impressive since the only thing Will actually could cook was fish. “Yeah, this morning. I wasn’t expecting company or else I would have stuck around and tried for more.”

“I was originally hoping to get you to agree to come to dinner with me this evening.” There was a note of hopefulness in Hannibal’s voice.

Will swallowed harshly. He didn’t want to leave the house and he certainly didn’t want to find out what sort of restaurant Hannibal deemed appropriate. Chances are it was one of those places where everyone would look at Will and instantly know he didn’t belong there. But Will was also aware of the thin line he was walking. Hannibal, his former psychiatrist, was already concerned about his mental state. Saying no wouldn’t make him look any saner. Also, the way Hannibal had asked he made it sound like Will coming out to eat would be doing him a favor and given what Hannibal had already done for him today it would be rude to refuse.

“Yeah, alright.” Will agreed grudgingly as he stabbed at his piece of fish with a bit more force than necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to include their dinner (which is where the ball starts rolling towards sugar daddy) but then things got longer than intended. 
> 
> lol so Grammarly yelled at me for using 'elderly woman' because it's not 'politically correct' so uh if I offended you I'm sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> [Stalk me on tumblr. Prompts and requests are almost always open.](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com)


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